Chapter 357
Thump….Thump….Thump….
In a large expanse atop a colossal mountain, situated precisely within the gap separating the Valley of Dragons from the sprawling, Great Mountain Range, the subtle, yet undeniably rhythmic thump of a burgeoning life echoed.
It was a sound that resonated not through the air, but through the very stone of the peak, a deep, resonant vibration that spoke of immense power held in potential.
The source of this primal beat was a dome of flesh, an irregular, organic sphere that seemed to hum with an inner vitality.
Its exterior, a tapestry of thick, pulsing veins, flushed a deep, arterial red as vast quantities of lifeblood circulated beneath its surface.
It was less a structure and more a living organ, akin to the gargantuan heart of some titanic being undergoing metamorphosis.
This was Draco’s current state.
Not long after Draco had entered Io's home, both Aasterinian and Io had immediately sprung into action.
Their combined might converged, initiating a healing process that was as intricate as it was agonizing.
For Draco, it was a torment that transcended mere physical pain, delving into the very essence of his being, as it involved the meticulous mending of damages to both his physical and spiritual body.
The treatment process lasted for an agonizing year.
And when it was finally complete, the true, most excruciating part began: the leveling up.
Before his departure from the bustling city of Orario, Bahamut had made a critical decision.
She had temporarily withdrawn Draco from the Bahamut familia, making Aasterinian his provisional patron goddess.
This temporary pact granted her the authority to update his status sheet, a crucial step for the transformation to come.
Immediately after the year-long treatment, Aasterinian had moved to update Draco's status, triggering an unprecedented surge.
He soared from level five to level six, but the ascension didn’t halt there.
Far from it.
Simultaneously, the metamorphosis from his juvenile state to that of an adult dragon-kin commenced, an agonizing process that saw his body systematically breaking down and remaking itself, cell by agonizing cell.
It was a physical and spiritual ordeal, a continuous cycle of destruction and rebirth. Concurrently, as if a long-sealed floodgate had finally ruptured, Draco’s accumulated stats exploded, his power reserves soaring rapidly.
The torrent of growth only halted at the precipice of level seven, just a few agonizing steps shy of level eight.
This incredible surge was the direct consequence of the seals, painstakingly placed on Draco by Io thirteen years prior, finally being completely undone.
These seals, intricate and incredibly potent, had been a temporary crutch, a safeguard designed to contain Draco’s inherent power until he had achieved the minimum level of strength required to withstand the rigors of this very treatment and growth process.
Under normal circumstances, such a developmental stage would have demanded anywhere between eight hundred to a thousand years of natural maturation.
Yet, thanks to the potent blessing of Falna…..the divine gift bestowed upon adventurers….and some core modifications expertly woven into his essence by Io, Draco had miraculously achieved the ideal state for this accelerated treatment.
Of course, all these modifications and manipulations of a mortal’s fundamental growth were a deeply sketchy process, firmly entrenched in the grey area amongst the gods.
However, Aasterinian and Io maintained that they weren't necessarily giving Draco any new, external form of power.
Instead, they were merely accelerating the natural processes that Draco, as a dragon-kin, would have undergone naturally, even without their intervention.
They were simply guiding the river of his destiny to flow faster.
Despite their rationale, many gods would undoubtedly argue against this, ever-eager to seize upon any excuse to witness a dramatic unfolding.
This was precisely why Io had meticulously planned his return to the heavens once his critical work was done.
A deity of his caliber, withdrawing completely from the mortal world, even if only temporarily for several millennia, was a move calculated to put many opposing deities at ease, disarming their suspicions.
It was also one of the key reasons why Chronepsis, had returned to the heavens thirteen years prior.
With the metamorphosis process well underway, Io penned a final, heartfelt letter for Draco, entrusting it to Aasterinian’s care.
Then, with a solemn farewell to the dragon goddess, he departed the mountain.
Returning to the heavens was an act destined to cause a massive commotion within the already volatile Valley of Dragons.
Therefore, he had to travel far, far away, ensuring his ascension wouldn’t inadvertently draw the attention of the One-Eyed Black Dragon.
The black dragon was fundamentally a black monster, and black monsters were perpetually drawn towards the scent of divinity.
Far from any potential trouble, Io finally let go of his mortal shell, ascending back to the heavens in a brilliant, golden pillar of light that pierced the sky, a beacon visible for miles around before vanishing entirely.
After Io’s departure, Aasterinian temporarily assumed his arduous duty, using her immense power to suppress the surging tides of monsters within the Valley of Dragons, maintaining a delicate balance.
She watched and waited, an eternal sentinel, until Draco would finally reawakened.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
A total of five years had now passed since Draco had begun his transformative treatment, and he was still deeply immersed in the process of his metamorphosis.
The dome of flesh, which at its inception was a mere five meters in diameter, had undergone a multitude of dramatic changes over the past years.
The once vaguely humanoid silhouette that had first resided within its pulsing confines had long since morphed, slowly but inexorably, into the distinct, powerful form of a dragon, growing larger and more defined with each passing day.
The exterior, once a vibrant, blood-red, veiny membrane, had long since dried out, hardening and gradually shifting in color until it had become an obsidian black, glistening faintly under the sun, like polished scales.
Outside the hardened shell, Aasterinian lay in her true dragon form.
Her massive silhouette cast a comforting, colossal shadow over the surrounding rugged terrain, a silent guardian against the harsh elements and the predatory denizens of the valley below.
The morning sunlight, a pale golden wash, glistened off her perfectly aligned blue scales, catching the ethereal light.
The cool, crisp mountain wind, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow, blew gently against her intricate horns, causing a low, barely audible hum.
She was, to all outward appearances, lazily napping on the mountain top, her massive chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
In reality, Aasterinian was excruciatingly bored, a fact which had remained a constant, gnawing presence for the last four years.
She had long since exhausted every exciting pastime she could conjure, and had devoured every single book she had thoughtfully brought with her……a small, carefully curated library now reduced to dog-eared piles.
Due to Draco's vulnerable state, a delicate chrysalis suspended between life and death, she dared not leave the mountain.
To do so would be to invite disaster, leaving him exposed to the relentlessly opportunistic monsters who resided nearby.
The metamorphosis was a complex, fundamental process that neither she nor Io could speed up. It was a major, non-negotiable milestone in a dragon-kin's life cycle, one that simply had to run its course.
It was the crucial transition, the epic passage into adulthood.
Upon finally becoming adults, the dragon-kin gained access to their true, inherent dragon forms, unlocking a power that was theirs by birthright.
So, there truly was nothing she could do but wait.
And wait she did, with a patience born of eons, yet chafing under the enforced idleness.
“Another day,” she rumbled, a low growl that vibrated through the very mountain, though she spoke only to herself.
Her blue eyes, usually alight with mischievous intelligence, held a weary glint.
“Five years. Five years of watching a very large, very black egg. At least it’s not actually an egg. That would be even more boring. And slightly… distasteful.”
She shifted, her massive claws raking lightly against the rock, carving shallow grooves.
“Oh, Draco, you’d better be magnificent when you burst out of there. All this waiting… it’s enough to make a goddess take up knitting.”
She chuckled, a sound like grinding stones, utterly devoid of mirth.
She found herself replaying Io’s departure.
She remembered his stern, paternal gaze, his final words:
“Watch him well, Asta. He is one of those who carry the potential for hope in the mortal world”
Hope, she mused, stretching her neck, allowing her gaze to sweep over the vast, untamed wilderness below.
The world was changing, even here, in this remote corner.
The scent of impending conflict was growing stronger.
Draco's existence, now unsealed, was a seismic shift, a reintroduction of a power into a world that once denied its existence.
The machinations of the other gods, the subtle maneuvers and veiled threats Io had sought to mitigate, would only intensify once Draco revealed himself.
Her presence here, too, was a statement, a deterrent.
A gust of wind, stronger than the rest, whipped around the peak, carrying with it the faint, distant howls of monsters from the valley.
Aasterinian’s ears twitched, her boredom momentarily forgotten.
Her eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon.
Nothing immediately threatening, merely the usual background noise of a monster-infested land. But still, the vigilance was constant.
No one knew when Tiamat would strike.
On this particular day, however, something felt… different.
The insistent thumps… from within the black dome, usually a deep, steady rhythm, began to subtly change.
It gained a new urgency, a higher pitch, vibrating with an almost frantic energy.
Aasterinian lifted her massive head, her half-closed eyes now wide open, fixed on the pulsating shell.
Thump…Thump…
The rhythm quickened, like a drumbeat accelerating towards a crescendo.
The blood-black exterior, which had been unmoving for years except for the internal vibrations, now began to visibly pulsate, a faint, glow appearing from deep within the cracks that were starting to spider-web across its surface.
Aasterinian rose to her full height, her body dwarfing the dome, her wings spreading slightly, catching the light like enormous, sapphire sails.
Her boredom vanished, replaced by a surge of excitement, an anticipation that thrilled her heart. “Finally,” she whispered, her voice a low, guttural murmur of satisfaction.
“It’s time.”
The cracks became more pronounced, spreading rapidly like a shattered mosaic.
A high-pitched, resonant snap echoed across the mountain as one of the larger fissures expanded. Then another.
And another.
The black shell wasn't just cracking; it was breaking apart from within, the pressure immense. Through the widening gaps, a vibrant, inner glow pulsed, alternating between a deep, molten gold and an intense, burning crimson.
A low growl, deeper and more resonant than any sound the dome had emitted before, rumbled from within.
It was a sound that spoke of nascent power, of immense strength struggling to be free.
The thumps soon escalated into a furious, pounding rhythm, shaking the very ground.
With a deafening CRACK! that reverberated through the air, a massive section of the black carapace exploded outwards, fragments of the shell scattering like obsidian shrapnel across the mountain peak.
Through the gaping maw, a single, enormous, red eye, slitted and piercing, snapped open, blazing with an untamed fire.
The remaining shell began to crumble rapidly, revealing glimpses of a magnificent form within. A flash of deep obsidian scales, then a glimpse of thick claws, tearing through the last vestiges of the prison.
The air shimmered, growing intensely hot around the emerging being.
With a final, earth-shattering roar that ripped through the silence of the mountain, shaking loose pebbles from distant cliffs, Draco burst forth.
He was no longer the relatively small juvenile, Aasterinian had known.
This was a true dragon.
His scales, a breathtaking tapestry, were the color of freshly burnt wood, a deep, all consuming black that seemed to absorb and radiate light simultaneously.
They shimmered with an inner pulse, each scale perfectly formed, hard as adamantine.
His body was lean, incredibly powerful, rippling with strength.
He possessed four powerful limbs, each tipped with razor-sharp, obsidian claws, capable of rending steel.
A long, muscular tail, tipped with a spiked tip, swept behind him, kicking up dust and debris.
But it was his wings that were truly awe-inspiring.
They unfurled with a majestic grandeur, spreading wide like vast sails woven from the shadow’s.
His head, noble and fearsome, boasted a crown of sharp, intricate horns that spiraled upwards, and his jaws, filled with rows of dagger-like fangs, stretched open as he let out another triumphant, challenging roar…..a sound that resonated, proclaiming his arrival.
His red eyes, now filled with awareness, scanned his surroundings, taking in Aasterinian’s form, the desolate mountain, and the vast sky above.
Aasterinian let out a low, pleased growl, a rumble of approval that was almost a purr.
“Well,” she said, her voice rich with admiration, “You certainly took your time. But you were worth the wait, little one. Welcome to adulthood.”
Draco, in his new, magnificent form, stretched, his powerful limbs flexing, his wings beating once, twice, testing their newfound strength.
A blast of superheated air billowed from his nostrils with each exhale.
He looked at Aasterinian, a flicker of recognition and gratitude in his gaze, then turned his gaze upwards, towards the expanse of the sky.
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